Beech Tree News Network

You know how in mid-October you can tell fall is coming because you see the color change begin in the leaves and you can smell smoke coming from chimneys and fire pits and you can feel a slight nip in the air?  Well, at New Image Car Care we have another gauge.  Every third person who pulls into our shop wants their tires checked, and not because they went out to get into their vehicles that morning and one tire looked low.  They want their tires checked because the tire sensor information on their dash is telling them one (or more) of their tires is low.  And you know what?  It is…by a pound or two.

The tire pressure monitoring system (TPMS) is the bane of our tire-checking existence.  Not because we mind airing up tires for our customers, that’s part of the service.  It is the bane of our existence because you can’t always get the warning light to go off after you air up the tires.  Most of the time, the little bugger will go off by itself after you’ve driven the vehicle a few miles, but that doesn’t always happen.  Some vehicles have a whole system of steps you have to follow to get the light to go off after airing up the tires.  The steps are varied enough that I can’t memorize them all, which leaves the customer with another annoying light to keep their “check engine” light company.

According to Wikipedia.org, the TPMS was first used in Europe on luxury passenger vehicles in the 1980s.  The information stops short of saying who actually came up with the idea or invention, probably for the person’s safety, especially if everybody feels the animosity toward the sensor that I feel.  The mandate for use of the sensor was pushed through the US congress after all the Firestone recall hoopla in the late 1990s involving tire tread separation and rollovers.  “The Act mandated the use of a suitable TPMS technology in all light motor vehicles to help alert drivers of under-inflation events” (Wikipedia.org).  They are supposed to be in all vehicles after September 2007.

Most people who come into our shop to get a few pounds of air in their tires realize the sensors aren’t entirely accurate.  They smile and thank us for the service then go on their merry way.  Occasionally though, we’ll have an elderly customer, driving a state-of-the art vehicle which has all the bells and whistles, including a tire sensor light that tells them, not only that their tires are low, but also exactly how much air is in each tire.  We will go around and around the vehicle, trying to get each tire to the required specification, sometimes without much success, because the sensor doesn’t seem to pick up the fact that there is air being sent into the tire.

We had one such episode last week.  My husband, Garey, spent forty-five minutes patiently explaining to an elderly man exactly how tire sensors work then airing up each tire to the specifications printed on the tire itself.  The man left, and Garey went into the break room to fix himself a sandwich for lunch—it was already2 pm, because we had been very busy.  Just as he raised his sandwich to his mouth, the same guy pulled up to the bay door.  Garey, trying not to let his annoyance show, directed the man back into the bay.

“The light says I have 23 pounds in one tire, 26 in another tire, 21 in one and 28 in the other,” the man said.  

 Garey went back around the car with his gauge, making sure the tires were set on the proper psi then invited the man to check the tires himself.

“I trust you,” the man said, “I just don’t understand why this light says different.”

“BECAUSE THE STUPID THINGS ARE DEFECTIVE!” I wanted to scream, but didn’t, choosing instead to walk into the office, where two unsuspecting employees were trying to have a quiet moment,  and go off on a rant about how I wish they made two versions of every car—one for tech-savvy people and one for people who don’t have a clue. (I would be driving the one for people who don’t have a clue.)

The man finally left and Garey came into the office, holding his half-eaten sandwich.  He was not happy.

“The problem is they produced the things before they worked out all the bugs,” I said.  “They should have let the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) get ahold of them.”  (For those of you who don’t know, the FDA is notoriously thorough—choosing always to cover their behinds before releasing a product that could potentially help millions.)  

“If they had been submitted to the Food and Drug Administration, they’d still be in testing,” Garey agreed.  “Instead they submitted them to the Fooled and Drugged Administration, and you see what we’re stuck with!”  

Yes, I saw.  I see every day.  I long for the days when you walked out to your car, looked it over, and said to yourself, “That front tire looks a little low,” then drove on down the road without giving it a second thought.